


Happyfolk

by swagruinsluminary



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: 2-d and murdoc aren't on the best of terms, F/M, M/M, Other, The noodle and 2-D is platonic, but maybe they will make up whO KNOWS, u gotta read to find out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:52:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10918476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagruinsluminary/pseuds/swagruinsluminary
Summary: 2-D finds himself trapped in a warped nightmare about the events that took place during Plastic Beach. Noodle tries to wake him up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work in the Gorillaz fandom, so please feel free to leave constructive criticism!

Nightmares weren’t uncommon occurrences for 2-D, as he usually found himself writhing uncomfortably in bed, reliving the haunting memories of his time spent on Plastic Beach. They always started the same way: an unsettling, quiet void of darkness, akin to that he felt in his drugged state due to the gas he was sprayed with by the Boogieman–and then comes the stench. It’s mild at first, stealthily burrowing itself into 2-D’s unconsciousness once more, and nestling itself there; a sick reminder of how a tiny puff of gas rendered him immobile, rendered him useless to defend himself against the journey towards his own personal prison. After what seemed like hours of being stuck in a black abyss, 2-D’s lovely nightmare decided to progress even further, and finally he’s able to knock the feeling of paralysis away as he opens his eyes slowly, taking in his current scenery. The dreaded basement prison brings a pang of stabbing nostalgia with it, and 2-D can feel his heartbeat race at an immeasurably fast rate as he turned his head to face the window, only to be greeted with the menacing grimace of a whale–no, a humongous, gigantic, enormous whale with billions of sharp teeth that look like they could tear his flesh apart in seconds and–

2-D shook his head and looked away, goosebumps skittering about his skin. He knows the whale didn’t actually have billions of sharp teeth, but his dream didn’t. Ignoring the looming mammal behind him, 2-D went to the other side of the room, trailing his fingers against the wall. Even the texture was so precise, so undeniably real. Sudden flashbacks lurched into his mind, throwing up a chaotic mess of old, heinous memories, such as: Being trapped down here like a prisoner, like some animal and being forced to record songs by the man he once looked up to, without any compensation aside from an occasional meal and, if 2-D was exceptionally good that week, maybe a short trip out of the basement for some fresh air. Maybe. Visibly, 2-D flinched at the memories, pressing his back against the wall and sliding down it in utter defeat, eyes brimming with frustrated tears. He hated these dreams because there was no way out. Because he was trapped. 

But in life outside of dream world, 2-D was causing quite a racket with his insufferable tossing and calling out. Of course, no one did anything–Murdoc couldn’t care less about what his token front man was feeling, Russel was a pretty heavy sleeper and Noodle? Well, actually, she did care. How couldn’t she? 2-D was basically her older brother, and if there’s anything Noodle had learned, it was that family is the most important thing in your entire life, so you should try your hardest to keep said family around. Quietly, she made her way to 2-D’s room, opening the door and walking in. Lo and behold, there he was, tangled in a mess of blankets, pillows strewn, face caked with snot and dried tears as he groaned out in fear, with just a dash of defeat. “Hey,” Noodle sat on the bed besides him, wary of his kicking feet lurking below the covers. “Toochie, wake up. It’s a nightmare.” To top it off, she gave him a little shake, hoping that would ease him into consciousness.

Back in dream land, 2-D was not doing so well. As the sound of footsteps approached, he scooted even further into the wall he was propped up against, grabbing his mask in an attempt to hide some part of him from the man who caused this madness: Murdoc Niccals, and his little faux Noodle. And there they were, both iridescent and colossal, sickening grins masking their true intentions. 2-D whimpered to himself, taking note that the walls of the basement were also growing increasingly closer to each other, causing the window guarded by the terror inducing whale to crack ever so slightly, and now the already small, dark space was growing more cramped by the second, leaving the illuminated, fantasy Murdoc the only light source. 2-D’s observances were interrupted by the giant Murdoc taking off one of his shoes and holding it up, hovering by 2-D, reading himself to pummel the poor boy with it for no good reason (as he often did). “C’mere, faceache” 2-D watched in horror as the dream Murdoc spoke, his mouth spastic and his words not matching up with anything he was saying. “Please, Mudz, I didn’t– I didn’t do nothin’, you don’t gotta–” The walls were beginning to close at a faster pace now, and the cracked window had started to leak, which was followed by the deafening thumping of whale against glass. Quickly, the room filled up with the disgusting, polluted water Plastic Beach was known for, and 2-D pressed against the top of the ceiling, trying to push it up, trying to make it stop shoving him down into the sickening deep abyss of cold, dark water–but it was no use. The back of his head was shoved against the ceiling and he was forced to look down, only to be greeted with the open mouth from the whale he feared most, ready to devour him whole as Murdoc’s sickening, distorted laugh bustled through the terrifying unknown and–

“Toochie!” Noodle was growing panicked at 2-D’s sudden rapid breathing and frantic heartbeat, so she shook him again, this time patting his cheek also. That seemed to do the trick, though, because 2-D’s eyes bolted open, his body shaking in a cold sweat as he wiped the trail of drool, snot and tears that combined into one mucus-y mixture off of his face. Noodle stared at him, and 2-D stared back at her, his breathing finally steadying, but his heart still going a thousand miles per minute. He stuck his hand out, cupping Noodle’s cheek and then laughing, before pulling her into a shaky embrace. “Ah, ‘m so glad you’re real, you know.” Noodle sighed, returning his hug and rubbing his back, trying to comfort him again. “Was it about that Plastic Beach this time?” 2-D didn’t respond, but Noodle knew the answer. She knew what had happened to him, what Murdoc had done, and what her friend had to go through. Noodle nodded, not wanting to push 2-D to talk about something like this. “Okay,” she whispered, breaking the hug and standing up, guiding 2-D with her. “Go get yourself some water and splash it on your face, you feel hot.” He nodded, and left the room with a dazed walk, almost hitting the door on his way out. She smiled, and made his bed for him, before plugging in a little nightlight right besides his dresser


	2. Chatting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2-D finally confronts Murdoc about the nightmare, but not really in the way he wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! This one starts a little slow, but it gets better near the end.

“Oi, Dents. Lookie here, we made it on tha’ front page of the news.” Murdoc grinned, slapping a heavy newspaper down on the table in front of the dazed singer, quickly snapping him back to life. “Too bad no one reads the bloody paper anymore. Would it kill ‘em to put us on the national news every once in awhile? We are tha’ greatest band in the world.” 2-D glanced at the post laid out in front of him, eyes swallowing in the scenery: it was an overly happy picture of him and Murdoc standing together--the bassist’s arm slung lazily around his shoulder, big bold print under the two saying “GORILLAZ HUMANZ TOUR SOLD OUT AFTER ONLY TWO HOURS”

Sounds about right.

“I ‘fink people read the paper, Mudz. And if they haven’t then they coulda’ jus’ seen some a’ our interviews.” 2-D said, prodding at his cereal that went soggy about ten minutes ago before pushing the paper aside, still avoiding eye contact with the other man. He just wasn’t in the mood to deal with any of the drama between them--it was early, he had just woken up an hour ago, and to top it all off? He only got four hours of sleep, and two of them were thanks to Noodle. “What’s the matter with you today, mate? You look like death, and I mean more than usual.” Murdoc hummed, chuckling a bit to himself at the last line.

“It’s nufin’, really.”

“You know, every time you say something like that, it usually turns out bein’ some pretty important stuff, so why don’t you just go ahead and tell ol’ Mudzy--”

“Sod off.”

Murdoc huffed, moving his seat from across 2-D to next to the other man, unabashedly intruding on his personal space. The Gorillaz’s frontman groaned and rubbed his eyes, which only worsened the steadily forming bags under them. “I had a nightmare is all, alright?” Murdoc grinned again, this one wider than the first. “What was it about, huh? Was it about one of those zombie flicks you’re always watching? _Ohhh noooo mista zombie! Don’t eat mah’ brains!_ ”

“Wasn’t about a zombie. But the person that was in it kinda looks like a zombie.”

“So you’re talking about yourself then?”

“I’m talkin’ about you.”

For a moment Murdoc fell silent, his mischievous grin soon morphing into a rather confused grimace, his head tilting to the left a bit as he mentally put two and two together. “Tell me it wasn’t about Plastic Beach again, _Stu_.” 2-D knew that tone, he knew that voice. He knew Murdoc only ever called him by his real name when the bassist wanted to make himself look like a decent person. As much as he hated to admit it, 2-D had fallen victim to this ploy many, _many_ times--but this would not be one of them. “No, yeah. It was, you old sod. It was about you and the whale and that cyborg.” Finally, Murdoc and the frontman locked gazes in an uncomfortable glare as 2-D’s blood covered eyes bore into Murdoc’s lazy ones. The gentle tapping of fingers on granite counter top halted just long enough for 2-D to hear Murdoc’s breath hitch for only a tiny second. He was nervous. There was no sound, there was no speaking, only silence.

“That was ten years ago, Dents.” Murdoc finally said, his voice dripping with false confidence as he took a sip of his coffee. “I’m tryin’ ta’ make amends, I really am.” 2-D sighed, resting his head on his hand and leaning on to the table further. “Words don’t make up for keeping me in a bloody basement, you know. That whale--it ate me. And then I ate it. Don’t you feel a lil’ bit sorry?” Unexpectedly, Murdoc’s expression morphed from guilty to annoyed, and he stood up, snatching the paper in one hand and the coffee in the other. “Fine, ya’ faceache. Then I won’t try ta’ make any damn amends with you if you don’t want any part of it.” He scrunched up his nose as Stuart flinched at the sudden movement, before dumping the remainder of his beverage on the frontman’s mom jeans and exiting the room.

2-D sat there for a moment, staring down at his ruined pants, pushing away the sudden wave of sadness that washed over him--why had he approached the problem like that? He knew Murdoc was emotionally unstable, he knew he was still sensitive and hated being blamed for anything whatsoever. For a second, the frontman felt like crying, but he quickly reminded himself that he wasn’t a kid anymore, that he was almost forty--but that didn’t help. It just made Stuart feel like crying for an entirely different reason: He was more than halfway done with his life and all he had done was waste his time in a crappy band with a crappy leader who busted his eyes and stole his girlfriends and--

No. Never mind. 2-D stood up, slipping his jeans off, glad to have been wearing underwear today. But just as he was making his way upstairs to toss the articles of clothing in the wash, Russel saw the unruly scene and came over, eyes darting from Stuart’s undies to the dark brown stain on his pants. “Did you crap yourself or something?” 2-D groaned, the realization of how incredibly wrong this entire situation probably looked from an outside perspective. “No, I jus’--I mean, I didn’t--” Russel raised a brow, his face nestling in a curious--yet disgusted--reaction. “Yeah, I did.”

God, Murdoc was right. He really was pathetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If enough people like this one, I'll add another Murdoc and 2-D interaction where 2-D actually tells Murdoc what went down.


	3. Sleeping Powder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2-D writes a song.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I'm going to be updating more frequently now, though, so expect a lot of chapters!

"Russel?" 2-D said in his most charming voice, knocking at the already opened door to the drummer's room. If it were any other day, he probably would have just simply walked inside, but the older man looked anything but welcoming as he stuffed yet another dead, gutted animal with cheap cotton. "Can I come in? I got sumfin' ta' ask you. I know you're probably busy wif' your, uh--stuffed animals--but it's kinda important." Russel turned around, taking the needle out of his mouth and placing it down on top of the spool of thread, before raising his eyebrows in anticipation. "Yeah, 'D? What is it?" 2-D went to open his mouth in response, but Russel cut him off quickly. "And it's not called stuffed animals. It's called taxidermy."

"Oh, right. M'sorry." 2-D spit out solemnly, not wanting to get Russel all riled up. He wasn't looking to start another argument today. "I was jus' wonderin' if you could maybe gimme those pills you took from me back? I know they're only for really, really bad migraines, but I 'fink I feel one comin' on, you know? Better to be safe than sorry." Those were lies. All lies. And Stuart felt as if Russel knew that, too, especially with the amused glance the other man was giving him. Russel scoffed, shook his head, and rolled his dead eyes at Stuart--a clear screw off. "'D, you know I can't do that. You take too many, man. You can't curb yourself. And those are the extra strong dose, so I don't need another dead body lying on my conscious, alright?" Stuart nodded in mock defeat before exiting the room, closing the door behind him with a heavy thump. 

The second he was out of Russel's room, 2-D sped up the stairs, careful not to make any suspicious noise as he raced up the steps and into Russel's bathroom, rummaging through the cluttered medicine cabinet for a very special bottle containing some very special pills. With each empty, incorrectly prescribed orange bottle 2-D flung off of the shelves and onto the grimy floor, Stuart's hope deflated more and more. Maybe he'd never find them. Maybe Russel threw them out. Maybe they weren't--

"And what in Satan's name are you doing?"

Stuart froze in terror, his head turning around slowly to glimpse at the person who caught him red handed, hoping--praying--that they wouldn't rat him out to Russel. "Murdoc, I was jus' lookin' through the cabinets for Russel because he was watching the tele and felt a little sick but didn't wanna get up since he'd miss what was gon'appen next." The bassist just smirked at him, his back resting against the door frame, hand shifting around in his pocket. "Oh. _Oh?_ Oh, that's too bad then because I suddenly remembered that I should give you your special migraine pills I took from Russel awhile ago back. _Butttt_ , if you're not looking for 'em, then I'll keep 'em, alright? They do give you a mighty good high." Murdoc finally took his hands out of his pocket, and there they were. Lo and behold, 2-D's sacred pain numbing medicine dangled in front of his face. "Unless you do want this. Then take it. Go on, just grab it."

Well. Murdoc wasn't wrong. Stuart did want them.

So, he did what Murdoc said. 2-D snatched the pills right out of Murdoc's hands and pocketed them quickly, his cheeks reddening slightly in embarrassment and shame. "Thanks." Stuart mumbled halfheartedly, but Murdoc just continued to stare mockingly at 2-D, his posture getting slightly better by the second. "Mmmm, _no problem!_ Just don't come crawling to me when you take too many and can't stop throwing up everywhere like last time."

_Welcome to the end._

2-D mused to himself, popping open the bottle and scarfing down two of the long sought after pills, embellishing in the sudden wave of relief that washed over him once consumed. It felt, to say the least, insanely good--so, he did what anyone would do, and took another one. And then another. The night seemed to be going pleasantly well. Stuart grabbed his piano and pulled it onto his lap, pressing down random keys. Maybe he'd write a song--and a good one--so then Murdoc would stop being such an arse and be nice again. But he needed inspiration, and he needed it fast if he was going to finish this by tomorrow. A few more pills couldn't hurt.

By the time Stuart's groans were loud enough for anyone to hear, the entire bottle was empty. Russel scrambled up the stairs with Noodle close behind him, throwing the door open. How could he have been so stupid to leave 'D alone like that--especially since the damn kid was just asking for his pills only a few hours ago. While Russel internally berated himself, Noodle found 2-D caved in on himself on the floor, cradling his legs in a fetal position. "Hey," Noodle said softly, pulling the distressed frontman into her lap and unfolding his limbs from their current position. "Toochie, what happened?" But he didn't say anything back, only looked up at her with pleading, dazed eyes. Noodle grabbed the blanket off of his bed and used it to wipe the drying drool, snot and tears that were caking on his face. "C'mon, answer me." Russel placed a hand on her shoulder and she looked up, watching intently as the larger man dangled an empty pill bottle in her face. "Looks like someone finished the bottle." Noodle's eyes widened and she jolted to her feet, stepping over the sleepy 2-D who was slipping in and out of consciousness. She grabbed the phone and quickly dialed the nearest hospital. "Hello? Miss? I think-- I know my brother overdosed on his painkillers. Can you please send an ambulance?"

Noodle gave them the address and then hung up, dropping down onto Stuart's bed in utter defeat, Russel following suit. "He's gonna be okay, baby girl. Don't worry about it. People overdose all the time, it's not always life threatening, they'll just pump his stomach and then we'll be done with it. We gotta keep him off of those damn drugs, though. He just can't control himself." Noodle twiddled with her thumbs, trying hard not to lose her cool. Tonight was going to be a somber one. She noticed a thin piece of paper lying alongside the disregarded piano and picked it up, reading it intently. That was weird--Noodle didn't remember 2-D mentioning writing a new song, nonetheless something called Sleeping Powder. "You know what they say," she mused, nonchalantly, looking back over to Russel after reading the page of lyrics.

" _Welcome to the end_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to give me any critiques!


	4. Amarillo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noodle and Russel talk to 2-D in the hospital while Murdoc takes a nap.

The hospital wasn't an uncommon place for Stu to wake up on a Saturday morning. It was charming in its own way, really. The disgusting smell of sick, dying people and febreeze to cover up said stench, the blinding white lights, the dirty white walls that needed a good scrubbing--he could go on and on. But something stopped him. 

"Dents?"

Stuart finally squinted open his eyes, focusing on the person hovering above him, clutching his hand in their own. It was surreal seeing Murdoc like this, genuinely worried and distressed. His voice didn't show it, but his expression sure as hell did.

"I'm sorry, kid. I really am. I shouldn't have gave you your pills, I knew I shouldn't have but I did it anyways because I'm a fucking 'tard sometimes, okay?" The bassist looked down at Stuart for anything--a smile, a nod--even a slap in the face would be better than the loopy look the younger man was giving him. "Can you understand me?"

No response. 

Murdoc frowned again and turned around, pulling the rusty hospital chair next to the side of Stuart's bed and sitting down quietly, attempting not to stir him out of his temporarily comatose state. Again, Murdoc gently clutched 2-D's boney hands, avoiding eye contact. It's not like it mattered anyways, the frontman couldn't understand what was going on anyways. 

Or so he thought. 

"You can't die on me, okay? You know how scary this is? You're laying here strapped to a million sodding IV's and you just got your stomach pumped. You really wanna die like that? In a hospital?"

No response. 

But Stuart heard. Stuart wanted to speak, wanted to talk, wanted to tell Murdoc that no, he didn't want to die and that no, he wasn't going to. Except the pretty nurse from before doped him up pretty badly and he couldn't quite seem to move his mouth. 

"Dents. Dents, come on. Seriously. How are the Gorillaz gonna go on without you, huh? You're the frontman, so we all depend on you to make us look good--which is why you're our pretty boy, right? So you can't just abandon us now, that'd be pretty damn selfish, I'd say. Especially with the newwww Humanz tour coming up." Murdoc said, the ending sentence sounding a bit too excited for the current, morbid situation. 

"Stuart, lad, you can't do this to me. You've gotta get up, alright? I said I'm sorry, so you have to just get up already." Murdoc dug through his pockets aimlessly before finding his pack of cigs and smoking one, almost subconsciously offering one to his singer. 

A few hours passed before Noodle and Russel came back in to check on Stuart once again. Murdoc was sleeping in the chair alongside him, his cigarette just narrowly missing slipping down his throat as he snored, mouth wide open. 

"Yo, Mudz." Russel said softly, tapping the bassist's shoulder and nudging the other man off of the chair. "Wake up, he's aight, man. He's just tired, wouldn't you be tired if you got your stomach pumped at three in the morning?" 

"Not me, hehehhh, if I can stay awake all night shagging fifty broads, I can stay up for this thinggg.." Murdoc trailed off, sleep lacing his voice. His memory seemed to fail him for a moment as he peered around, utterly confused and a bit worried as to why he was in a hospital--no. As to why his beautiful, stupid frontman was in a hospital bed and completely unresponsive. "Wha... what's wrong with 'Dents, huh? What happened to him?" Noodle and Russel glanced at each other and then back at Murdoc, wondering how on earth the bassist completely forgot their whole angry speech about how it was his fault that Stuey was hospitalized and that he was far from a responsible adult. 

"He overdosed on those pills you gave him." Noodle chimed in, arms folded across her chest in an act of defiance. "You know, the ones Russel specifically told all of us not to touch." 

"Oh." Was all Murdoc could say, his eyes lingering on the singer laying in bed almost unconsciously, his eyes opened in a hazy glare. It brought him back to the 'good old days', when Gorillaz was just a thought and his good buddy 2-D was still formerly called Stuart Tusspot and stuck in a bed seemingly forever. Well. 

Maybe those memories weren't really good. 

At least not for 2-D. 

But while Murdoc was stuck in his trance, Stuart finally seemed to regain some feeling back into his limbs and squirmed around tirelessly, wanting to be free from his paralysis. He had gone through feeling immobile once for around a year, and hell if he was going to do it again. "'D?" Russel piped up, looking up from his cheap, drug store magazine that coincidentally had the Gorillaz plastered on the front page. (well, not all of them. Just 2-D and Murdoc, as usual.) "How you doing, man? Are you holding up aight? Doctor said you're gonna be fine, so no worries there." 

Stuart inched upwards, finally sitting with his back against the headboard and glanced over at the trio, suddenly feeling very, very dizzy. And then very, very nauseous. So nauseous that it didn't even feel like nausea anymore, Stuart actually felt like some gremlin was crawling up his throat and ticking his tonsils and his gag reflex and then--

"Bloody hell!" Murdoc cried out, unhappily snapped from his trip down memory lane only to be doused in drug laced vomit, the stench almost unbearable. "What in Satan's name is wrong with you, 'Dents? Couldn't you see I was sittin' right here, huh, mate?" 

"Sorry, Mudz, I was only tryin'ta fink buh' I got to dizzy and it all came flyin' out so fast, you know?" Murdoc grumbled in response, taking the shirt off and throwing it in the trash before walking out of the room, calling for a nurse. 

"He coulda jus' pushed the help button" 

Noodle chuckled softly, placing her hand on 2-D's. "We're so glad you're okay, Toochie, but you can't keep doing this to us--and yourself, okay? After the tour is over, we're thinking of sending you to rehab or something if you don't turn this around, and I'm sure you don't want that." Stuart shook his head in response--a little too heard--and internally gagged a little, but this time didn't let it out over everyone. "Yeah, man." Russel chimed in, moving closer to the singer and Noodle. "You know they wanted to send you to a psychiatric hospital and make sure you were aight? They were gonna make you stay in a room with no sharp objects and constant monitoring just so you didn't kill yourself. Noodle and I know you didn't wanna, you know, commit suicide, 'D, but these hospital nurses don't, aight? Luckily we got you a freebie with some flirting and free backstage passes but you gotta keep this problem on the DL. Plus, you got no reason to wanna kill yourself, right, man? So we don't have to worry about what those nurses were saying anyways, right?"

Subconsciously, 2-D nodded, not entirely paying much attention to what Russel was jabbering about. It was probably important, but Stuart just wasn't in the right mindset to focus. He didn't mean to try and kill himself, and Russel was right--he didn't have any reason to. He was rich, he was famous, and he could sleep with almost any girl he could ever want. Those things so obviously outweighed never really experiencing true love, almost being forty and having absolutely no legacy to follow, never having a child with a woman you really love--not just some bird you forgot to use protection with--and raising them to be a model citizen, right? He had what anyone in the world wanted.

Fame.

So why would anyone famous ever want to kill themselves?


	6. Songbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murdoc says sorry.

It was a matter of days before 2-D was released from the hospitals care and put back into the real world. They say celebs don't get special treatment--well, whoever 'they' was was incredibly wrong. It really doesn't hurt to have a doctor that's a fan of your band helping you out. 

Murdoc leaned on the thick railing, lifting a cig up to his mouth and inhaling. It was brisk outside, especially for a mid August night, but the bassist decided to stay on the porch, not wanting to face the impending conflict between him and his singer. That's right, his singer. He practically owned the damn junkie, so why was he feeling so sappy all the sudden? Maybe old age really was softening his heart, and not just in the way the doctor told him--maybe the great Murdoc Niccals was finally going to show some emotion other than lust or anger for once in his bloody life. So, against his better judgement, he turned around, dropping the cig and crushing it beneath his heel, watching the formerly lively flame shutter and die out. But before he could swing the glass slider of the spirit house open, Noodle walked outside, awkwardly squeezing by him. "You should grab a coat, you know. It's pretty cold and your jittery old man bones aren't gonna last very long." Murdoc chuckled a bit, looking over to Noodle, who had already taken his place against the metal rail. "I saw what you did there," she hissed, sounding less than sympathetic. "That was really rude, man. He was just a little tired, you didn't need to spill coffee all over him and then coax him into overdosing on his pills. And, even after you did all that, he still didn't rat you out to Russel. He just said he crapped his pants and that he accidentally found the pills lying around. He said he had no self control." With that, Murdoc laughed, turning to face the woman, a look of disbelief on his face. "That's bloody rich, Noodle. I hope you got a video of that."

Unamused, she rolled her eyes, taking a cigarette out it's pack and holding it in front of Murdoc. "You better apologize to him." He groaned dramatically at said reasoning, snatching a lighter out of his pocket and lighting her cig. "Yeah, yeah, don't get yet ya' panties in a knot."

The walk to Stuart's room was painfully long, each step forcing Murdoc to think more and more about every possible situation that would happen. Maybe he'd open the door only to see 2-D packing up and ready to leave this sodding band once and for all, or maybe the dullard would have completely forgotten about the whole situation in the first place. Murdoc hoped the latter. Finally, after what felt like a month-long stroll, the bassist finally reached Stuart's front door, giving it a few harsh knocks. And, almost immediately, the frontman opened the door, looking more disheveled than usual. He looked like he had been crying.

"Hey." Murdoc quipped, unsure of what to say.

"Wut's up?"

The two stared at each other in uncomfortable silence, each man not knowing what to do next. "You wanna come in?" 2-D finally blurted out, the tense air making him visibly frown. "Yeah, mate. That's why I knocked on the door in the first place." Murdoc went inside, passing Stuart and heading right for his bed, flopping down. It wasn't until a few moments later that the other man joined him, his sudden weight causing the bed to dip down slightly, the movement edging a now empty pill bottle to roll out of its hiding spot and thunking Murdoc in the head. "So why're you here?" Stu said amist his fantic movements, trying to hide the plastic bottle once again. Russel had tried to cut 2-D off of his pills after his sudden brush with death, but the frontman still kept some anyways. "Mmm, well. Noodle said I should come in here. Said I should say I'm sorry for ruining your bloody pants. Said I should tell you I shouldn't have given you those pills and that I'm a bad guy." 

"So are you gonna?"

"Probably not."

"I didn't think so."

The two sat in a dreadfully awkward silence again, Murdoc wondering if he should just go or actually muster up an apology and 2-D wondering what on earth he did wrong to deserve the silent treatment. "'M sorry." The bassist muttered, sitting up and glancing at the singer quickly, checking if the other man heard his apology. 

"Wot?"

Apparently, he did not. 

"Damnit, I said I'm sorry, okay? S..O..R..R..Y. You hear that now, mate? Need me to say it any slower for you to understand?" It wasn't the best apology, no, but Stuart knew he meant it because wow--Murdoc Niccals, the man who isn't afraid to make deals with the devil himself--just said sorry? 2-D didn't thank him, didn't say 'it's okay,' but instead patted Murdoc on the shoulder gently, resting his hand in the crook of the older man's neck. Silence engulfed them again, but this time it wasn't the uncomfortable, daunting quiet. This time, it was nice. It was peaceful. 

Murdoc wiggled out of his singer's gentle grasp and stood up facing the door, the silence only being cut off by 2-D's silent tussling behind him. "Where're you goin'?" Murdoc huffed, turning around. He would have yelled, would have droned on about how utterly annoying 2-D was being because god, he was an adult too, not his damn parent and could go where he very well liked. But it had been awhile since he really looked at his lovely Stuart, and the blue haired man seemed to be deteriorating by the second. Not too much physically, because he still looked damn good for someone almost forty, but more emotionally. And even though his eyes were a dark and vexing black, Murdoc could still see a sliver of emotion and it sure as hell wasn't a good one. The bassist had seen that look before, mainly in some of the dangerously cheap prostitutes he had slept with. The look someone has when they are stuck talking about better days that are yet to come. It's the look someone has when they've just given up. 

"Nowhere, just stretchin' the ol' hammies, you know?" Murdoc grinned, leaning down and lunging. He was sure he felt something rip, but he wasn't sure if it was his leg muscle or his pants. That was better left unanswered. 2-D chuckled and Murdoc sat back down next to him. God, he smelled like death. The two talked for awhile, and the bassist listened as Stuart mused about his recent emotional crisis, his thoughts, his regrets. Gorillaz was all Murdoc had nowadays and he sure as hell wasn't going to let that fall through his fingers, no matter how low he had to stoop. So he did the unspeakable. Murdoc hugged 2-D uncomfortably, his hands unable to find a comfortable spot to rest on the bony figure. But, Stuart didn't really react the way Murdoc thought he would, and instead of hugging back, he tensed up, unsure of what this sudden act of kindness would lead into. So, mainly out of boredom and less out of embarrassment, Murdoc let go and stood up, heading for the door. "Well, Noodle is gonna be happy I said sorry. Gotta scram now, mate. Good talk."

2-D stared at the door as the lock clicked behind Murdoc, flipping back down on his bed. Tomorrow was going to be a long day--Noodle was going to take the other three clubbing, which worked out well, because the man Murdoc had to meet was also conveniently there.


End file.
